Five Cypresses, Times Two

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Translated from the Portuguese by Adria Frizzi

He wasn’t a rich man. Nor was he a poor man. He was just a man. And this man had a dream.

He dreamed that a bird alighted at his window and told him:

“There’s a treasure awaiting you in the city of the five cypresses.” But when the man opened his mouth to ask what city that was, he scared away bird and dream. And awakened.

For days he asked everyone he ran into if they knew anything about a city with five cypresses, but nobody could answer. Then, as if he were still hearing the bird’s clear words, he sold off his few belongings, put the money in a leather pouch he hung around his neck, got on his horse, and left. 

He chose the direction of the setting sun, telling himself that, as long as he traveled with the Sun, the days would last longer, and he’d have more time to search. And together with the Sun he climbed mountains, crossed plains, forded lakes and rivers.

Of the city, not a trace.

But he had dreamed about the bird, so he kept searching. Then one day, when the sun was beginning to caress his back, he saw in the distance the black silhouettes of the five cypresses rising out of the mist like towers against the horizon. 

The horse shuddered under the involuntary tug of the reins. But, as soon as it was spurred on, it took off at a gallop. And they galloped on and on and on.

The horse was covered in lather, and the man drenched in sweat, when they finally reached the first house. And since the man was worn out, and the close of day near, he thought it best to drink the water of that well, lie down in the shade of that tree, and search for the treasure that belonged to him the next day, after he rested.

And so he did. And immediately fell asleep. 

He slept so deeply that he didn’t wake when another horseman showed up, dismounted and approached him. So deeply that he didn’t feel anything when the other man touched the leather pouch hanging from his neck, still filled with money. And asleep as he was, how could he know that this was a fearsome bandit?

He didn’t hear a thing. Not even when the other man drew his sword and, holding it up high with both hands, brought it down abruptly, chopping off his head. 

Smiling slightly, the bandit opened the pouch and counted the money. Then he grabbed the head by the hair and threw it in the well, leaving the bloody body to the dogs. 

And in the well the head began to sink slowly. Until it reached the bottom. Where its open eyes could no longer see the rotting coffer overflowing with jewels and coins, fading into the greenish darkness.

But a tale is just a tale,
Which I tell, retell
And transform into another tale.

He wasn’t a rich man. Nor was he a poor man. He was just a man. And this man had a dream.

He dreamed that a bird alighted at his window and told him:

“There’s treasure awaiting you in the city of the five cypresses.” But when the man opened his mouth to ask where this city was, he scared the bird away. And the dream took wing.

He asked in vain everyone he knew if they could tell him anything about the mysterious city. No one had heard of it, and the most they did was shake their heads and shrug. Thus, realizing that if he remained where he was he’d never get to where he needed to go, he sold his house and his vegetable garden, he sold the clothes he was not wearing and, after putting the money in a leather pouch, he hung it around his neck and left.

He chose the direction of the rising sun, saying to himself that watching the Sun ascend every morning would be like watching his luck, which was also ascending. And together with the Sun, he rose day after day, crossing plains, climbing mountains, fording lakes and rivers.

Without finding any trace of the city.

But the bird had spoken in his dream. And he kept searching. And finally one morning, when the sun was caressing his face with still warm fingers, he saw black silhouettes tall like towers, the stark silhouettes of cypresses, appear on the horizon. He could barely see them, drenched in the blinding light hovering in the distance like a haze. Still, his heart felt as if it were lunging towards them, and his horse shuddered under the involuntary tug of the reins.

They rode on and on and on. 

The horse was covered in lather, the man’s hair plastered against his forehead, when they finally neared the yearned-for city. The Sun was about to set now, and in the fading light of day, the man saw that the cypresses were not five, as he had thought, but only four. 

—This is not the one yet—he said, disappointed, as if someone could hear him. 

And he rode away, spurring his horse on. 

He couldn’t have known that the previous night a storm had come crashing down on the city. Or that an unerring bolt of lightning had felled the fifth cypress.